


fantômes du passé de noël

by klytaemnestra (klytae)



Series: Midgar Blues - A Collection of Shinra Noir [8]
Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII Remake (Video Game 2020)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-16
Updated: 2020-12-16
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:21:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28104642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/klytae/pseuds/klytaemnestra
Summary: Rufus takes a sip of his drink, and sets it aside. Outside the snowfall has grown heavier. The shipyard nearly obscured save for the harbour lights twinkling in a facsimile of holiday cheer.
Relationships: Rufus Shinra/Tseng
Series: Midgar Blues - A Collection of Shinra Noir [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1915873
Comments: 7
Kudos: 36
Collections: Shinra Holiday 2020





	fantômes du passé de noël

Tseng makes it in just as winter settles over Junon’s rocky coastline in a dismal shroud of crimson and grey. Coat and luggage set aside, tie loosened and left in a drape along the back of a chair. It's two days after the solstice, and nightfall will be upon them soon enough.

Rufus stands against the windows, a glass of cognac in hand. 

‘You seem quiet.’

Rufus does not respond, light eyes intently set on the gently falling snow just beyond the expansive glass overlooking the bay. His request to be brought home this winter for the holiday festivities gone ignored, the official report that the weather conditions in Junon have made travel impossible for the heir, but they both know the truth. His last venture into the city met with disdain, a failed social event, the newspapers and tabloids brutal in their criticism, and lurid speculation.

‘I know you’re disappointed.’

‘It’s not that.’ He takes another sip of cognac, watching the last ship brave enough to weather this storm vanish into the darkening haze. ‘It’s been 15 years.’

Tseng does not respond. Rufus suspects he knows well enough the subject matter. Rufus’ mother, the beautiful, vibrant Theodora Shinra. She had passed away a few days after Rufus’ twelfth birthday. The last memories of her are that final holiday season where she, all dressed in silken white gowns and glittering diamonds, had played host to the well connected and elite. How he had waited in the corridors of the Shinra building to catch a glimpse of the parties. He remembers tasting his first champagne, his mother smiling, laughing, glamorous, calling Rufus into the ballroom one evening, introducing him to her guests, and how they had laughed when he sipped the sparkling wine with all the finesse and expertise of a sommelier. 

The future of Shinra. A child as striking as his mother, and as calculating as his father.

'I'm sorry I never got to meet her.' Tseng's voice is low. Rufus can't be certain the sentiment is genuine or some form of platitude. Tseng rarely seems to want for anything except the here and now. So very seemingly unsentimental, a past buried, a family forgotten and unspoken of. It's not that he does not care, it's only that he has very little reason to.

Rufus swirls the amber liquor in his glass, and swallows another burning mouthful, the taste of bitter almonds playing against his tongue as the flavour settles. 'It was the last time I ever received a gift.' Such a trivial thing, truly. The son of the most powerful man on the planet, receiving small trinkets wrapped in decorative gilded paper adorned with ribbons and bows. He goes quiet then, standing to move across the room to look out over the dark water, the way the snow catches on the glass in crystallized flakes. 'Until you.' They rarely exchanged gifts, but he thinks to his gloves dropped carelessly on the coffee table. A gift of necessity to conceal the scars left from a moment of petulance and despair, scars that Tseng has kissed more times than he can recall, a lasting testament to a past transgression.

'I don't even remember what I received. We never had large celebrations. Just the two of us, and then--' He tries to draw an accurate picture of his old man in his mind. He always arrived an hour late, smelling of cigar smoke, and some other woman's perfume. He lavished his wife with jewels, necklaces of the finest diamonds, sapphires the colour of her eyes. 'My father always gave her a dragon's hoard in jewelry.' Rufus can forgive the infidelity, knowing enough that Tseng sometimes slips away to seek the comfort of others, but never the way his father did. After a row or in the line of duty. Rufus rarely asks. It's not uncomplicated, this thing between them. All that matters is that Tseng always returns.

'He loved her. I don't know if he ever loved me. If she ever did--' Those nights in Midgar in the gleam of twinkling lights, and glittering baubles, the faceless figures of his parents, the memory of Heidegger, and Palmer looming after too much holiday eggnog. ‘I can’t remember. It’s as if all my memories never existed.’

The arms that surround him are warm, fingertips bare as they brush against his own, lips soft upon the curve of his neck.

'I wasn't able to get away in time ' Tseng admits, hands moving to wrap around fragile wrists with a sudden possessive fierceness that Rufus still finds himself unaccustomed to. To be wanted, and desired, and cared for. He leans into the touch. 'I would give you the world if it wasn't already yours.'

'Is it?' His posture tenses beneath the touch.

'It will be.' Tseng speaks it like an oath. All those promises of one day echo in his mind. He draws in a breath, the scent of Tseng's cologne lingers in the air. Such a fleeting, ephemeral thing, yet capable of evoking the clearest of memories. The promises made, and words shared, the lies, too, and the betrayal. His own treachery, and how despite it all, Tseng is here, still.

He turns away from the glass, shrugging out of Tseng's embrace. 'I should make us a drink.' He thinks of champagne bubbling around candied cranberries, and his mother's laughter as his father draped a cascade of jewels around her neck, and told her she, too, had the world. He smiles bitterly at the memory, and makes them each a cranberry bourbon, instead.

'I'm afraid I'm not very festive this year.' It's an attempt at an apology for his dour mood. Rufus has never wished to bring Tseng down, especially when his lover seemingly rarely takes the time to allow himself the luxury of simply enjoying their life together. There's always some mission, or duty, the constant trepidation that Rufus' life is at risk.

'I should've taken you skiing. I was of the impression the President would call you home.' Tseng suggests against the rim of cut crystal glass. 

Rufus gives a toss of his head, pale blonde tumbling further into his eyes. 'I think he wants to forget I exist, and it's easier when I'm out of public view.'

'Rufus.'

'You think you understand him. And maybe you do, you must know this is no longer a temporary arrangement.'

'I do.'

Rufus makes a soft humourless sound. 'What's the official order?'

'You know, as well as I, he hasn't forgiven this.'

No, Rufus supposes he has not. _Will_ not. 'I used to look into the homes in the other Sectors as a child.' Recalls those drives home staring out the frosted windows, his mother at his side. The holiday lights and wreaths adorning doors and stoops, the warm glow of firelight, families gathering around the tree. 'Who'd believe Rufus Shinra was envious of some child in Sector 7--'

'They had a different life, it's understandable.'

'And you?'

'I fear my childhood was briefer than even yours.'

Rufus takes a sip of his drink, and sets it aside. Outside the snow has grown heavier. The shipyard nearly obscured save for the harbour lights twinkling in a facsimile of holiday cheer. 'Come here.' He speaks after a while, hand reaching out to take Tseng’s. Rufus closes the distance between them, lips capturing Tseng's, the tartness of cranberries and the oak of bourbon flooding his mouth once more. He pulls away a breath later, before falling to his knees.

Tseng's hands find their way into Rufus' hair as he stares up at his lover, and trails his tongue along his lower lip, and sighs. 'Let me.' Tseng exhales all at once as Rufus' mouth closes around his cock, sighs some soft words of affection, and begins to thrust shallowly. It’s been weeks, and Rufus knows Tseng won't last long, but he needs this. To give Tseng all the love he cannot with words, worshipping his cock as if it were some idol. He's hard with want, and palms himself through his trousers, whining high in his throat at the touch, the vibration causing Tseng to cry out, his hand moving to cup Rufus' jaw, tilting his head back just so to thrust deeper.

Warmth floods Rufus' mouth, as Tseng shudders and stills. He works his tongue along the softening length and withdraws with a moan, fingertips discreetly wiping always any trace of Tseng’s release.

'Was that my holiday gift?' Tseng's smile is genuine, pupils still slightly dilated, voice a bit breathless.

'One of them.' Rufus watches as Tseng moves to repay the favour, allows him to lower him to the floor, and stretches out willing and wanton before Tseng leans down and swallows him to the base.

When it is over, Rufus lays there in the aftermath, pulse racing, and turns once more to the snow.

Rufus wakes late the following morning. Outside the shipyard has been transformed into a winterscape of white, sloping drifts of fresh snow, icicles gleaming in the soft grey light of day. He shivers as he walks along the cold floor, his usual silken sleepwear not suited for the weather. He finds the living room more welcoming, a warm fire aglow, fresh coffee waiting for him in a glass carafe. Tseng is noticeably absent. He pours himself a cup, breathes in the aroma, before adding a splash of cream. Clouds heavy with snow loom in the distance, and for one brief moment Rufus fears Tseng has made some impromptu trip out in the helicopter to retrieve some holiday gift Rufus doesn't need. He's checking his phone for messages, when the door slides open, and Tseng dressed in a wool coat and scarf walks through the door carrying a stack of boxes. Ornaments, glass garland, bundles of lights.

'What are those for?' Rufus arches a light eyebrow and takes a sip of his coffee.

Tseng smiles, just barely, like some mischievous cat. 'I know you're not very festive, Sir.' Boxes left on the floor, he disappears through the door once more before emerging with a tree slung over his shoulder, branches covered in a dusting of snowfall, all tightly bundled beneath twine. It's far smaller than the grand fir trees that fill the Shinra building, each brought in from the forests of Mt Nible, but Tseng assures him that it will spruce up nicely beneath the decorations. 

'A tree, really Tseng?'

'I realize you like to pretend you don't miss it.' Tseng settles the tree in the corner and shrugs off his coat, fingertips still frosty despite the gloves. 'Now tell me where you want it.'

Rufus smiles despite himself, points to the space nearest the windows, something that can be seen from the docks, a bit of holiday cheer amid the dismal weather conditions. Tseng settles it just so, the branches still glistening with scarce droplets of melted snow.

'Go shower.' Tseng suggests, pulling Rufus close for the briefest of moments. Rufus turns away when he tries to kiss him, knowing the bitterness of coffee lingers on his tongue, instead pressing a soft peck to the corner of Tseng's jaw in unspoken gratitude.

Rufus is greeted by the warmth of the fire, the soft lilt of holiday jazz, and the scent of spiced white apples. He settles against the door frame, taking in the sight of Tseng looking almost domestic in dark wool knit, hair swept up, as he quietly winds a strand of lights along the tree.

'There's cider.' Tseng offers as he stands back away from the tree to admire his handiwork.

'You really needn't.' Rufus finds himself touched by Tseng's insistence that they make the most of the holiday they've been given. He pours them each cider, hot water melding with cardamom, cinnamon, and anise in a fragrant bouquet. 'You really, truly didn't have to do this, Tseng.' Rufus repeats, hand wrapped firmly around the warm glass.

'You've been sulking.' Tseng smells faintly of spice as he leans in close, voice barely more than a purr. 'I know you're good at feigning indifference, but no one likes to be forgotten on the holidays.'

Forgotten, yes, Rufus supposes he is forgotten. The Shinra parties continue on without his presence. He has never cared for them, but there is a lingering bitterness that Midgar doesn't need him. His fingers catch on a branch. It will become brittle soon enough, and be hauled away to be repurposed on the shoreline after such a fleeting moment of glory. 'I suppose not having to endure Heidegger should be my father's gift to me.'

Tseng laughs, and presses a soft kiss against his temple. 'I hope you didn't have plans for tonight.'

The look Rufus gives is suspicious.

'The Grand Leviathan is hosting a holiday dinner at Alchymia. I took the liberty of reserving us a table.'

Rufus smiles then, tossing his head a little. 'I don't know if I have a suit for you.' He knows Tseng has in this rare moment not had the foresight to pack something more formal than his usual dark suit. 'What time is dinner?'

'8 o'clock.'

'Then that gives us all afternoon to ourselves.' When they kiss, Rufus savours the heady numbing taste of clove.

The streets of Junon are lively despite the winter snow, the warm glow of shop windows inviting against the cold grey daylight, while the clamour of a nearby holiday market fills the air with festive tunes and good cheer. Rufus pulls his coat a little tighter, breath misting in frosty puffs, nose tinged the slightest red. 'I'd enjoy the snow more if it wasn't so damnably cold.'

Tseng ushers him toward the market. There are kiosks serving mulled wine and cider to take away the biting coastal chill. A tradition hailing from Mt Nible nearly 4 centuries before, all the larger cities where snowfall is common have adopted the practice of hosting magnificent winter markets full of local treats, warm drinks, where artisans sell wares and goods, and families and friends alike join together in celebration of the season. Rufus recalls one such market in Midgar, between Sectors 8 and 1, though smaller ones dotted the slums, Midgar's citizens eking out what joy they may even if roaring firepits gave way to repurposed oil drums, fine spiced wine, to simple hot cocoa from a tin, topped with marshmallows.

He shivers against a sudden gust of wind, and accepts the steaming mug of wine. 'Cheers.' Few outside the military know Rufus Shinra is here on a somewhat permanent basis, and out of his suit, Tseng is nearly indistinguishable as part of Shinra. It affords them a certain luxury of anonymity amid the crowd. Rufus leans in close enough that their noses brush together, soft words of affection lingering unspoken on his tongue. Perhaps it's the weather, the way the fading light catches the snow, the jovial warmth of families and lovers. His hand encircles Tseng's, fingertips chilled despite the gloves, and holds it firmly. The holiday lights twinkling around them, they stroll the stalls together. 

'You've never told me about the winter holidays in Wutai.' Rufus is not one to pry, each small thing he learns about Tseng is like some rare treasure, his past buried the moment Veld offered him an opportunity.

Tseng laughs softly. 'We have our traditional holidays, but everyone put up trees and exchanged gifts.' He turns to look at Rufus, thumb catching a flake of snow on his cheek before it can melt. 'We lived on the side of a hill, it didn't snow often, but we used to sled down it.'

'We?'

'I did have a family once.'

Rufus goes quiet then. Considers for a moment that this is why he _doesn't_ pry into Tseng's past. 'I shouldn't have--'

Gloved hands capture his chin. 'I have regrets. Sharing what I can with you is not one of them.'

The sky is dark by the time they emerge from the market, pleasantly warm from wine, Tseng pulls them into the shadow of an alleyway, and kisses Rufus, lips vaguely sweet. There is desire there, and as he kisses him again, Rufus sighs into Tseng's mouth.

They make it back to Rufus' apartment in record time despite boots slipping on icy surfaces. Hands fumble at winter coats, gloves and scarves, and the ridiculous fur hat Rufus has insisted on wearing left discarded as naked bodies seek out warmth. Tseng pulls away with a kiss to light the fire.

Rufus reclines along the rug, eyes intent on Tseng's movements, the shape of his cock, and curve of his ass. He moans once, eyes fluttering closed, and slides a finger between his lips. They have time yet to enjoy one another's bodies, and he longs to feel Tseng fuck him until he's breathless.

He starts at the sound of his name. Tseng kneels above him, body glowing in the warm firelight, a glass toy in hand. 'Let me.' He sighs, hands kneading the flesh of Rufus' upper thighs before sliding the well lubed toy home eliciting another moan. 'How do you want me?'

'Behind.' While he loves the intimacy of kissing his lover during sex, there's the way Tseng pounds him from this angle. He wants to come hard and fast. The whine that escapes his throat as he feels Tseng withdraw is short lived as he shifts onto his hands and knees, ass high, tantalizingly so. He moves his hips in invitation. Tseng needs no further encouragement. Rufus gasps as he feels the slick blunt head brush against him, clenches, and then as he relaxes, cries out as his body engulfs Tseng's cock in the sweetest of aches. They both still, Tseng’s hair tickling along his shoulders and spine as lips press kisses along the nape of his neck. And then he begins to thrust, movements smooth, calculated.

Another cry tears itself from his mouth. Tseng's cock fits him so well. He's met with a particularly brutal thrust, something that makes his vision blur. Then another. He clenches back, rocking his hips. Tseng's hand cups one ass cheek, and leans in close, breath warm against his ear. 'Beg for it.'

The words shoot through his cock, and he leans down to bury his face in his arms, voice muffled as he pleads to be fucked, for Tseng to claim him, how he's only his. Words of love slip between the filth, all the unspoken things he's wanted to say since Tseng arrived lost in a moment of passion. Easy enough to pretend they mean nothing when uttered while impaled on that cock, what whore doesn't pretend to offer affection, but they both know the truth. Rufus is hopelessly in love. So enamoured with Tseng as to want to share Midgar with him. And Tseng--

Rufus hears his lover moan, feels the hot rush of cum, as he tenses beneath the thrusts, cock nestled against his prostate, Tseng’s hand working him expertly to release as a wracking pleasure over takes him. They still together, collapsing onto the rug as their hearts race in unison.

Tseng's lips find his. Rufus arches up into the kiss, pleasantly fucked out, and so very much in love. And as he winds his arms around Tseng's shoulders, he hears the words. 'We'll be late for dinner.'

The Grand Imperial Leviathan Hotel is as splendid as any in Midgar, with marble columns, and crystal lighting, adorned all in festive garlands, and wreaths, trees gleaming with ornately wrapped packages beneath. The Alchymia renowned. A traditional staple of the hotel, it has become in recent years among the finest restaurants on the planet, and such fame does not come without its own challenges. A 13 month waitlist, unless of course you happen to be in a relationship with the son of the most powerful man in the world. Tseng rarely takes advantage of his status but on holidays such as these, only the best will suffice. 

They're seated in a discrete corner with a good vantage point. Rufus likes the attention, but prefers the quiet solitude of an intimate meal when they're together. Able to watch other patrons while not having to be watched. Rufus looks admiringly at Tseng. 'You are so very beautiful. I barely wanted leave.' He makes a stunning figure here dressed in a dark brocade designer suit, something of Rufus', though the colour isn't quite him, and Tseng had given a vaguely suspicious stare when it fit as if custom tailored for him.

'You're always beautiful, Sir.'

Rufus offers him a smile. He's vain, but such admiration from his lover still sets his heart racing. It'll be hours before they return and he thinks another bout, for the holiday, seems in order.

The dinner is a seven course affair with wine pairing, each choosing the vegetarian option--with an allotment for caviar--as a glass of chilled champagne and an amuse bouche is offered. Rufus savours the flavour, eyes intent on Tseng's as he raises his glass. 'Thank you.'

'It beats listening to Palmer.' Tseng replies before taking a sip of champagne.

Rufus reaches out then, fingers resting lightly against Tseng's hand. 'Truly. You've made tonight as memorable as any.'

By the time dessert is brought out, Rufus is more than pleasantly buzzed, with Tseng only slightly more sober. 'I'm sure you've figured it out by now, the next part of your gift.' Rufus swirls a Madeira from Costa del Sol in his glass. 

'I did wonder about the suit.' Tseng admits, eyes slightly amused.

'Forgive me for buying you frivolous things. I like seeing you well dressed. You should be adorned in bespoke fashion.'

'I appreciate every luxury you bestow.'

It's late when the leave, both a little wine drunk, arms entwined as they step out into falling snow. Neither are religious but the choral strains of music call to them as they pass a church. Tseng suggests they slip inside, if only for a moment. Rufus lights a candle for his mother in the shadow of Saint Shiva. He whispers a soft prayer to gods he doesn't believe in, and thinks of holidays long past. 

They walk along the harbour, content and pleased, hands linked. In the distance, the clouds break to reveal a full moon and twinkling stars far beyond the shore as snow continues to gently fall overhead. A soft laugh escapes Rufus, tinged with the barest of sorrows. 'Forgive me for giving impractical gifts.' He knows the suit Tseng will never have the luxury of wearing, too flashy, too expensive to not draw attention in Midgar. He withdraws a small box from his coat pocket. 'Open it.' Tseng does. A pair of elegant cufflinks, mythril and materia. 'I had them engraved.'

Tseng withdraws one cufflink, gloved thumb tracing along the etching. _Ma moitié_.

'My other half.' Rufus sighs.

Tseng smiles, closing the space between them. 'Ma moitié.' And holds Rufus close as the snow falls all around them.

_Fin_


End file.
